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She ignored Bea's call from the kitchen; she ran up-stairs to the unfrequented guest-room; she wept in terror, her body a pale arc as she knelt beside a cumbrous black-walnut bed, beside a puffy mattress covered with a red quilt, in a shuttered and airless room.
CHAPTER VIII
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I
“Don't I, in looking for things to do, show that I'm not attentive enough to Will? Am I impressed enough by his work? I will be. Oh, I will be. If I can't be one of the town, if I must be an outcast —— ”
When Kennicott came home she bustled, “Dear, you must tell me a lot more about your cases. I want to know. I want to understand.”
“Sure. You bet.” And he went down to fix the furnace.
At supper she asked, “For instance, what did you do today?”
“Do today? How do you mean?”
“Medically. I want to understand —— ”
“Today? Oh, there wasn't much of anything: couple chumps with bellyaches, and a sprained wrist, and a fool woman that thinks she wants to kill herself because her husband doesn't like her and —— Just routine work.”